


Monkey Boy

by Fledhyris



Series: Sea Verse [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Limited Technology, Merman Dean Winchester, Not a Crossover, Sam Nerfed the Apocalypse, Supernatural meets Water World, The Impala is a Boat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-20
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-15 12:39:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19295938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fledhyris/pseuds/Fledhyris
Summary: Sam thinks back on their childhood, to how Dean was then compared to how he is now. Sam regrets nothing.In a world much changed since the Biblical Flood never receded, some things (the Winchesters, the battle between Heaven and Hell) remain the same.Other things are very, very different.





	Monkey Boy

Growing up, Dean had always been a little different, set apart by his physical… oddity.

Dad said he was a throwback, a devolution to ancestral times, before the Flood. That it was everyone else who bore the mutations, and Dean was more purely human than them all.

That didn’t stop the other kids from calling him names. Mutant. Freak. Twiggy, from ‘Twig fingers’. Monkey Boy, because he could climb (though not nearly so well as an actual monkey). It served him well for escaping up coconut palms, where his abusers learned to steer well clear of his deadly aim.

As a child, Sam liked to look through Dean’s fingers; used to beg and beg until he would spread them wide, holding them so that Sam could peer through the gaps, giggling with delight. Dean would hold up his hands in the lamplight and cast wonderful shadows on the walls, performing magic with nothing but his own deft flesh. When Sam tried, the fine webbing between his fingers just obscured the light, making the shadows shapeless and obtuse. Dean would soothe Sam when he was sick or afraid, weaving those fingers through his hair like a living comb; and it couldn’t be denied that they were marvellously dexterous for the finer tasks, such as writing or sewing, or counting out beads from a jar to help Sam learn his numbers.

What they were not so good at, what Dean himself was not so good at, was anything to do with water. It wasn’t that he was a poor swimmer, exactly, and certainly not afraid; but his body seemed to drag and hinder where others’ were much better designed to pull them through the heaving sea. Dean came last in every race, except on land, but who wanted to race there? He couldn’t stay under for as long as the other children, either, forced gasping to the surface after only moments, betrayed by shallow, fast-breathing lungs. In all ocean related activities, Dean was relegated to the sidelines, though he claimed not to mind; was proud of Sam’s achievements. Sam was popular, normal, included; but it threw a shadow over his enjoyment, seeing how his brother was treated.

One thing to do with the sea Dean was good at, and that was sailing. He used to help Dad with their little black-tarred boat, the _Cormorant,_ and was a first-class navigator. Of course she came to Dean in the end, but now, it’s left to Sam to pilot her, weaving a course through wind and wave as he tries to keep up with his brother, who darts effortlessly before her prow like a living figurehead.

What would they think, those children from their long-ago days of innocence, if they could see Dean now? Would they be envious, or afraid? What names might they call him, now that he parts the waves like one born to them, at one within his element as a dolphin or a seal? He is still different, still apart, even stranger than before. But now they would be the ones to flounder, choking, in Dean’s wake as he cleaves a shining path with his tail where none but Sam would dare to follow.

Sam knows, now, how special Dean was, how perfectly designed for that one fore-ordained task: to be the Sword, the chosen Vessel, for the Archangel Michael in his fight against his fallen brother, the Devil. Together, Sam and the Sea Witch have dashed all Heaven’s hopes with what they wrought. Sam really doesn’t care; is fiercely glad that they can’t have him. Where were the Heavenly Hosts when Sam fell to Jake’s treacherous blade in the back, when Dean made his desperate deal to save him? Where were they when Lilith’s savage hounds dragged his brother down to Hell? 

Let Heaven and Hell howl their impotent fury at finely measured plans torn asunder. Sam will sail the _Cormorant,_ far from land and angels and demons. The sea is their mistress, Dean’s and his, and she is older and stronger than them all. They will follow the currents and the far horizon and the salt swell will keep them safe. There are monsters in the depths, both natural and not; but their only designs are teeth and blood and bone, writ plain in their savagery. There is purity in this path; and there is peace. Most of all, there is togetherness. They have each other, and no need of anyone, or anything, besides.

**Author's Note:**

> There are no cars in this 'verse. The Impala is named 'Cormorant' because impalas (and antelope in general) are not noted for their aptitude on water. And because she's a fishing vessel. Apart from being a boat, and her name, she's the same vehicle we all know and love, and Dean's Baby, even though he can't sail her anymore.
> 
> At some point I will write about the deal Sam made with the Sea Witch to save Dean from Hell, plucking him out before Alastair got anywhere near him.


End file.
